


devil won't let me be

by blackkat



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!, Naruto
Genre: Dimension Travel, Explicit Language, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Squalo is So Done, Tsuna is also So Done, Varia ridiculousness, Warning: Xanxus, it's Verde's fault, technically, with everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 00:56:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10060298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: Squalo eyes Mammon skeptically. This sounds like the start of a bad idea to him. Mysterious people from other dimensions with strange powers and apparent rage issues?...Then again, he should fit in perfectly among the Varia.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SparkleMoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkleMoose/gifts).



> For SparkleMoose (again), because it’s their fault even if we never directly discussed Xanxus/Obito. Also, the Varia are far too much fun to write _I did not need this kind of distraction in my life_. 
> 
> (Title from _Sinister Kid_ by The Black Keys, because it’s a Xanxus and Obito song like _woah_.)

The Varia haven’t had a Cloud Officer in decades, since well before Xanxus decided that cleaning house was best done with submachine guns and the biggest wood chipper he could find upon coming out of the ice. It’s also, Squalo knows, not much a surprise that no one is leaping to volunteer. The Varia are famous, but more for Xanxus’s temper than anything, and the other officers’ unique personalities don’t exactly encourage anyone less distinct to try out.

They're also definitely not getting Gola Mosca back, Squalo thinks, grimacing at the stack of forms Timoteo had passed him the moment he tried to edge their conversation in that direction. Bastard old man knows exactly how to distract him, because Squalo was sure as hell too busy yelling about how _he_ was going to be the one forced to do all this shit to remember that Xanxus wanted him to get the Gola Mosca repaired and returned to them.

And now Xanxus is probably going to throw the whole liquor cabinet at him. Fan-fucking-tastic. God forbid the shitty boss talk to his _own fucking father_ (more or less) and actually get what he wants, rather than sending Squalo to deal with all the bullshit.

Some days Squalo is absolutely convinced that torturing him is Xanxus’s hobby. Really, what the fuck else could it be?

When he slams into the wide room where most of the Varia Officers tend to gather, not entirely certain whether he wants company or just someone to yell at, Mammon and Belphegor are the only ones present, apparently engrossed in a card game. Squalo’s never seen Go Fish played for money before, but it’s Mammon. He’s not surprised.

“VOOOI,” he snarls at them, because though they're not nearly as satisfying a target as Levi would be, they're still decent. “What do you two lazy assholes think you're doing in here?”

Mammon's hood is still firmly pulled down, but Squalo can feel the derisive glance they cast him. “Be quiet. You're going to make me lose my concentration.”

“You're _psychic_!” Squalo splutters, offended by the very idea. “And—VOOOOI, WHY DO YOU NEED CONCENTRATION FOR FUCKING GO FISH?”

“Shishishi, the prince is winning.” Bel waves him off, ignoring the much higher pile of coins on Mammon's side of the table. “Go bother someone else, peasant.”

“WHY, YOU—”

“Oh, my! Squalo, you're back!” Lussuria drapes his coat artfully across the back of the sofa and sprawls just as artfully beside it. “Our fearless leader missed you~.”

Squalo scoffs. Loudly. “You mean he missed having someone to throw his damned empty bottles at, that shitty drunkard.”

Lussuria giggles, fanning his face lightly. “Well, of course! Did you manage to secure Gola Mosca and an appropriate sacrifice for us?”

With a growl, Squalo hurls himself into the other chair, dumping the pile of paperwork on the end table. Maybe he can conveniently forget it and then sneak it into Levi’s office later. God knows that if anyone deserves it, it’s the ass-kissing little twerp. “Vongola Nono isn’t giving us Gola Mosca,” he says sourly. “He changed the subject every time I tried to bring it up, and when I was leaving he _suggested_ that we start looking through Cloud Officer applications. Fuck, I hate that bastard.”

Lussuria doesn’t look overly pleased, but he keeps his smile as he suggests, “Ooooh! I could start a few interviews! They're always so sweet and innocent when they come to us—”

“VOOOI, I SAID WE NEEDED TO FIND SOMEONE, NOT SCARE THEM OFF FOREVER, YOU DAMNED OKAMA—”

“The Italian Underground Economy have no more models of comparable strength,” Mammon comments, frowning. They set down a pair of cards, then lean forward to snag two of Bel's remaining pennies despite the prince’s protests. “Gola Mosca was the last of its kind.”

And there's nowhere else they can find a military-grade killing machine powered by Dying Will Flames. Squalo slumps a little more in his chair, rubbing his forehead, and tries to think what he’s going to say to Xanxus. Nothing is going to save him from stitches, that’s for certain.

“Shishishi, another peasant?” Bel crosses his arms on the table, leaning forward with what could, knowing him, be either a leer or a bloodthirsty smile. “The prince doesn’t approve.”

The tenuous threads of Squalo's temper are rapidly giving way, and he surges to his feet. “VOOI, NO ONE ASKED YOU, YOU SHITTY PRINCE.”

Bel's grin gains teeth. “Shishishi, of course the prince’s opinion is the only one that matters—”

“Yeah?”

It’s a dark, dangerous drawl that instantly raises every hair on the back of Squalo's neck, and he jerks around to find Xanxus leaning in the doorway, one hand dangerously close to his gun and a glass of whiskey in the other. Not a bottle, at least, which means Xanxus is in a relatively good mood today.

Of course, playful cats are a hell of a lot crueler than hungry ones, so Squalo isn’t exactly going to take that as a blessing.

“Shishishi.” Despite the standard grating laugh, Bel practically looks nervous. “Boss, you—”

“Shut up,” Xanxus says, halfway between dangerous and uninterested. His red-brown eyes are on Squalo, intent and cold. “What did the old man say?”

A shiver makes its way down Squalo's spine. This isn’t a playful cat at all; this is a cat already on the hunt, ready to kill just because it can. He doesn’t let himself waver, though, doesn’t let himself show weakness as he scoffs and folds his arms over his chest. “Whole lot of fucking nothing. Said we should start looking at _applications_.”

Thankfully, Xanxus looks as disdainful of this suggestion as Squalo feels. They're Vongola’s Independent Assassination Squad; the very last way they're going to find a Cloud Officer is through fucking _interviews_. “Fuck that shit, and that shitty old man, too. Where is the piece of crap right now?”

Iemitsu was happy enough to gossip about that, once Squalo managed to get him alone and talking. The downside is that he now knows way too fucking much about the pathetic runty brat back in Namimori and all his stupid little guardians. For being a crap parent, Iemitsu is still a _fucking insane_ one.

“Being melted down for scrap as we speak,” Squalo says sourly. “The CEDEF has most of their people on it.”

“Trash,” Xanxus spits, eyes narrowing, and there's that particular tension in the air that feels like rage and death; he’s going to start throwing around Flames of Wrath soon, and when that happens Squalo wants to be out of the damned province, not just the mansion.

“I,” Mammon says thoughtfully, “might just have a solution, Boss.”

Squalo has never been quite so grateful to the little shrimp before. “Well?” he demands, rounding on the illusionist. “VOOOI, FUCKING TELL US ALREADY—”

An empty glass shatters against the side of his head, almost bowling him over. “Shut the hell up!” Xanxus orders without looking at him, and raises an expectant brow at Mammon.

They shift a little, pulling themselves up to sit on the top of the table facing Xanxus. “My…former colleague, Verde. I contacted him three months ago for information regarding that job in Caltagirone, and he mentioned he had been experimenting on something with powerful Cloud Flames.”

“Something or some _one_?” Lussuria asks, eyes too sharp behind his sunglasses to suit the fluttery idiot he normally plays.

“With Verde either is a possibility,” Mammon says carelessly. “He thought it was very powerful, though he wouldn’t give me more information right then.” The wrinkled nose is clear. “Some people don’t understand that time is money.”

And if there’s one thing Mammon will never fail to appreciate, it’s money. Squalo rolls his eyes and glances at Xanxus. “Should we check it out, Boss?”

There's a pause, and then Xanxus straightens. “Get my coat, trash,” he orders Squalo. “You're coming too.”

“You’d better be covering expenses,” Mammon sniffs, but they leap down with no further argument and follow Xanxus out the door.

Squalo, of course, is left to do everything that actually _matters_ in preparing for a trip to wherever the famously paranoid and reclusive inventor is hiding. _And_ he has to fetch the shitty boss’s coat like he’s a fucking _underling_.

“VOOOOOI, FUCKING GET IT YOURSELF! I’M NOT YOUR—OW, YOU SHITTY—”

“Waste of good tequila,” Xanxus says derisively, watching the liquor drip off Squalo's long hair. He turns around and keeps going, waving a hand over his shoulder. “And get me another bottle of that, too.”

One of these days Squalo's going to _murder him_.

 

 

Mammon disappears into the interior of the villa for all of ten minutes before they reemerge and beckon Xanxus and Squalo towards one of the side buildings. Xanxus scoffs under his breath, but he goes nevertheless, and Squalo follows closely, one wary eye on their surroundings. He doesn’t know a lot about Verde beyond his genius, but Squalo doesn’t believe in being too careful where mercenary inventors are concerned. _Especially_ with Mammon involved. The illusionist has a tendency to squeeze every last possible cent out of those around them, and some people are less than appreciative.

“This way,” Mammon says, tipping their head towards a staircase leading down. “Verde says he’s locked in one of the labs. No one’s been able to capture him and bring him out yet.”

“Him,” Xanxus says, and it’s almost a question.

Mammon pauses for a moment, then nods once. “Verde was trying to find a way to cross dimensions and pulled something out instead. The subject manifested powerful Cloud Flames the moment he appeared, and…other abilities as well. We can have him if we can subdue him. Verde wants his lab back.”

Squalo eyes Mammon skeptically. This sounds like the start of a bad idea to him. Mysterious people from other dimensions with strange powers and apparent rage issues?

…Then again, he should fit in perfectly among the Varia.

Deliberately, Xanxus checks both of his guns, then strides past Mammon and down towards the lab like he’s going to war, coat flaring out behind him. With a curse, Squalo hurries to follow, and an instant later Mammon levitates beside him as he clatters down the steps. Xanxus can do pretty much anything he sets his mind to, so Squalo isn’t overly worried about his safety, but if Xanxus loses his temper they're going to have to start all over looking for a Cloud Officer, and that will be a pain in the ass.

“This thing is human, right?” he demands, more than a little grumpy at the thought of forging the right papers if it—he—isn’t. “And do we even know he’s willing to kill? If he’s going to be on the fucking—”

“Twelve of Verde’s assistants are dead,” Mammon says, mostly bored. “Most of them messily. Five more simply vanished can't be found. This lab is the most secure in the world and Verde’s already had to reinforce it.”

Well. That’s probably a good sign, all told. The Varia don’t accept weaklings, and with most of them still smarting from their loss against the Vongola brat and his guardians, the addition of someone strong will be good motivation.

Not that Xanxus’s current motivations are probably much more complicated than _Strong fight? Me want,_ with some caveman grunting thrown in. Squalo would follow his boss into the deepest pits of hell with nothing but the faith that Xanxus would get them out again, but the man’s an ass and Squalo's never felt the need to sugar-coat things. He was an ass before he was frozen and he’s more of an ass now, and that’s probably never changing.

God, Squalo needs to get laid. He’s been so busy juggling all of Xanxus’s shit that it’s been _months._ He’d had high hopes after Cavallone invited him to drop by for dinner at some point, but between the fallout of the Ring Battles and the fit Xanxus threw over Gola Mosca—

A billow of violet and deep orange Flame explodes up the passageway, and Squalo curses and dives back behind the corner. Mammon is already there, still floating, and the illusionist looks interested and slightly wary.

“Powerful,” they say, stretching a hand out towards the dissipating wisps as if to feel their heat.

“It’s the boss, what do you expect?” Squalo asks crankily, peeking his head out to make sure there isn’t another explosion headed for them. The sounds of fighting are clear now, and he shifts his sword so that it will be slightly easier to attach if he needs to grab it suddenly and heads down the remaining stairs at a run.

Easily keeping pace in the air, Mammon sniffs faintly. “I was talking about both of them.”

That’s not as inaccurate as Squalo would entirely prefer. Xanxus is more than capable of tearing through pretty much anyone on the face of the planet, with _maybe_ Sawada Tsunayoshi as the sole exception, and he usually does it fairly quickly. The fight below them doesn’t seem to be abating, though—if anything it’s getting fiercer.

Another wash of Flames of Wrath makes Squalo duck, but it’s only a backdraft and clears quickly. Squalo takes the last flight of steps in a long jump, landing in the doorway of the lab, and immediately has to throw himself to the side as a body crashes down right where he had been standing. As he twists back to his feet, the human projectile growls, low and bestial, and levers himself up.

He’s young, probably still under eighteen, Squalo thinks with some surprise. Short, with messy black hair, a single red-and-black eye that spins like a pinwheel, and deep, twisted scars across one half of his face, and as he rises one of Xanxus’s shots goes right _through_ him as if he’s a ghost to punch a crater in the wall.

The stranger spits something that’s clearly an assumption regarding Xanxus’s parentage, by the tone, but despite his looks it’s not quite Japanese. Squalo speaks a hell of a lot of languages—it’s required of Varia officers—but that doesn’t sound precisely like any of them. There's no time to try and figure it out, either; the kid twists in a way that’s more like a cat than a human and flips out of the path of Xanxus’s next shot as well, orange flames just grazing his shoulder as he leaps. A foot against the top of the wall, launching him straight out, and he lands right next to Xanxus, dropping to sweep his feet out from under him.

Xanxus kicks out hard, making the kid roll back, and he only barely manages to jerk out of the path of the next shot. A third goes through him again, but this time when he rematerializes he’s noticeably paler, and when he hurls himself over Xanxus’s head it’s slower than the last jump. Xanxus grabs him, one hand locking around his ankle, and with a grunt and a heave hurls him straight into the far wall.

This time when the kid comes up, it’s wreathed in a swath of purple flames, eye glowing violet. He lunges bodily at Xanxus, and when Xanxus sidesteps it he immediately twists around with a leaf-shaped blade in hand, stabbing for a kidney. The knife slams into the butt of Xanxus’s gun, deflected to the side with a sharp jerk, and the kid curses again.

This one’s definitely a killer, Squalo thinks, and for one suicidal second he wants to jump in, see how the brat does with that blade when he’s facing a real sword. Xanxus really will kill him for that, though; there's nothing the boss likes less than other people stealing his fights. With a muttered curse, he steps back, making himself keep his hand away from his sword, and—

The kid vanishes.

“Not an illusion,” Mammon says sharply from the doorway, and Squalo spares half a second to feel entirely bewildered, because what the hell else could it be—

A sharpened edge of metal rests against the skin of his throat, and Squalo stiffens. He hasn’t been caught so entirely off guard in _years_ , didn’t feel so much as a hint of the kid sneaking up behind him, and that fucking reeks of some weird-ass ability none of them have ever encountered before. It’s not Flames, or at least not any Squalo has seen, and that puts the brat on the same level as Mammon as far as freaky shit goes.

In a surprising turn of events, Xanxus doesn’t simply shoot through Squalo to get to the kid, though he doesn’t exactly lower his guns, either. Eyes narrowed, he stares at the teenager for a moment, then scoffs and demands, “Can you even fucking talk?”

There's a brief pause, as if the kid is working out the words. Squalo expects another burst of not-quite-Japanese, but instead he says, carefully precise in a way that betrays unfamiliarity, “I can speak.”

Xanxus’s attention sharpens, an almost tangible feeling, though he doesn’t let his pistols so much as waver. “They have Italian in whatever dimension you're from?” he asks.

Another pause, the knife still pressed almost delicately to Squalo's jugular. “The people here,” the kid says at length. “One of them almost spoke like me. I made him teach me.”

By Mammon's reckoning the brat hasn’t been here more than four months. Squalo's reluctantly impressed. From almost-Japanese to Japanese to Italian in that time—not just a pretty face, then. Or aware that a good grasp of the local language could mean the difference between getting away and getting caught if he had managed to break out of here. Either way…

He meets Xanxus’s calculating stare, sees the same realization in his boss’s eyes. Between the intelligence, the speed, the Flames, and utter lack of hesitation in going for a killing blow—

Well. Varia quality’s a rare thing to find, even when you’re looking for it.

Xanxus grunts as if there's nothing particularly interesting about the brat’s statement, then tips his chin at Squalo. “Kill him already. I'm getting bored just standing here.”

God, Squalo hates his asshole of a boss _so fucking much_. Forget killing him, Squalo's going to dump every last damn bottle of alcohol in the mansion down the drain. They’ll see how Xanxus likes facing the rest of existence completely sober.

“You have no loyalty to your men.” It’s not derisive, though; if anything the brat sounds _amused_. “The baby from before, too—he just wanted his lab back.”

Mammon, still hovering in the doorway, snorts in amused disdain. “Verde hasn’t changed a bit,” they mutter.

The kid’s attention flickers for the briefest fraction of a heartbeat, but it’s all Squalo needs. He throws himself backwards into his captor, mechanical hand snapping up to catch the knife, and as soon as he has a good grip he ducks down and forward, using his momentum to flip the teenager right over his head. Squalo expects it to work, and with most people it would, but since he’s apparently half _cat_ , the damned brat lands on his feet and twists right out of Squalo's hold.

He isn’t fast enough to dodge Xanxus, though.

With a heave and a snarl, Xanxus grabs the kid by the collar of his badly-fitting (and clearly stolen) clothes and slams him back against the wall. A jerk, a vicious kick, but Xanxus shoves forward and bodily pins the kid, arm an immovable bar across his throat. Instantly, clearly aware of all the ways Xanxus could kill him without effort, he goes still, tipping his chin up as that pinwheel eye fades back to plain black.

“What's your name?” Xanxus demands, a growl like a tiger rumbling through him. It gets him a snarl in return, but he drags the kid forward to shake him hard and then slams him right back against the concrete. “Your _name_ , bitch, don’t make me ask again.”

“Obito,” the boy spits, full of clear fury and far too much deadly intent for a person his size. For all that they look like they're biologically the same age he’s a whole head shorter than Xanxus, leaner as well, but he still looks more than ready to go for Xanxus’s jugular with his teeth if the opportunity presents itself.

Xanxus doesn’t bother asking for a family name, because of course he doesn’t, as he looms closer. “That teleporting you do—it takes a while to recharge.”

“It _shouldn’t_.” The two words all but vibrate with frustration. “Your world—there's practically no _chakra_. I can't make enough—”

He cuts himself off, but Squalo feels his eyes widening as he realizes what the kid’s been doing. Cloud Flames have the attribute of Propagation, so Obito's been taking what little power he can find here and multiplying it to get enough for his ability. That definitely points to already having a good amount of skill with his Flame, and Squalo exchanges glances with Mammon.

As far as interviews go, this one’s practically signed and sealed already.

“You ever killed someone?” Xanxus asks, holding Obito's eye in a way that’s entirely threat.

The question gets a twisted, half-fractured laugh, and Obito grins, lips pulling back from his teeth in a death’s-head grin. “More than you can possibly imagine.”

“I doubt that,” Xanxus drawls. He looks Obito over once more, then drops him onto his feet and takes one step back, holstering his guns. “I’m Xanxus. If you want out of this lab, you can join me. If you don’t, you can fucking rot here.”

Squalo rolls his eyes and wonders why the hell he expected anything different.

Obito gives him a wary look, then glances back at Xanxus. “After I told you I've killed people?”

Xanxus bares his teeth. It’s not meant to be a smile. “Welcome to the Vongola’s Independent Assassination Squad, brat. You're our new Cloud Officer.”

The black eye widens, and whatever Obito spits at Xanxus in almost-Japanese is definitely an insult, and probably directed at Xanxus’s mother.

Instead of getting angry or breaking something over his skull—because, unfortunately, with Xanxus those are two entirely separate reactions—Xanxus simply laughs in his face. “Get the fuck over it,” he advises. “You can call me _sir_.”

“I’d rather gut myself,” Obito retorts, and—

Xanxus _looks him over_.

Squalo's jaw drops, and he doesn’t have the mental capacity to pick it up again.

Xanxus—whose sexual orientation is anger, who looks at girls to find their concealed weapons and nothing else, who was so bored by the strippers hired for Lussuria’s birthday that he _fucking fell asleep_ —lets his gaze drift over their new Cloud Officer from the top of his spiky hair to the bottoms of his bare feet, and then glances up to meet his hostile stare.

“Trash,” he says, and it sounds. It sounds. Squalo wants to say it sounds _enthusiastic_ , except this is Xanxus, so it mostly just sounds bloodthirsty. “Know your fucking _place_.”

He lunges. Obito dodges. There's a snarl like two wildcats stepping on each other’s tails, and then orange and violet Flames explode to fill the lab.

“VOOOOI, YOU IDIOTS. FUCKING STOP ALREADY. YOU'RE—”

A bullet made of Flames of Wrath just barely misses Squalo's head, and he screeches with fury and throws his hands up. “I’m going to fucking _wait in the car_ ,” he snarls at Mammon, and heads up the stairs. Whatever Verde is working on, no matter _what it is_ , there's no chance at all that it’s any more scarring than whatever the fuck is happening down here.

It’s probably telling that Mammon doesn’t wait around, either, but drifts next to him as he stalks up the steps. “I feel,” they muse, “like the betting pools in the mansion are about to increase drastically.”

Squalo doesn’t even want to _think_ about it. He’s been perfectly fine imagining Xanxus as someone without any sort of sex drive, because him being otherwise means it’s something else Squalo will eventually be forced to deal with. He growls in irritation, whirling to punch the heavy stone wall, but watching it dent under his mechanical hand doesn’t make him feel any better.

“Fucking _why_ ,” he says, mostly rhetorically.

“We aren’t paid anything close to enough for this,” Mammon agrees, pulling out a small notebook and writing something down. “I’ll bill the boss. For you as well, though I will of course be applying an accounting fee.”

Which likely means Squalo wouldn’t see a penny of it, even if Xanxus ever deigned to pay that kind of thing. Which he _won't_ , but Squalo doesn’t give a damn as long as he doesn’t have to see _that expression_ on Xanxus’s face again until he’s well and truly drunk. Alcohol might numb the horror. Maybe.

“At least it wasn’t the Vongola shrimp,” Mammon say, in faint amusement. “Though Reborn’s expression would almost be worth it.”

Squalo opens his mouth to protest, pauses, closes it. Then he sighs, rubbing his real hand over his face, and agrees, “I’ll drink to that.”

“You're paying,” Mammon says immediately.

Flames erupt behind them, curling up the staircase along with the sound of shattering stone, and Squalo just. Gives up.

“I'm paying,” he agrees, because really, at this point all he wants is a big bottle of whiskey and fifteen minutes of peace to drink it in.

If he’s not mistaken, the main Cavallone house isn’t all that far from here. Maybe he’ll abandon Mammon to drive the boss and his new recruit back and start his weekend early. He fucking _deserves_ it after today. And if Xanxus wants to throw a fit about it, Squalo will tell Lussuria about this little infatuation.

They're Varia. They're supposed to fight dirty.


	2. Coda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be sorry. I kind of am. Mostly I just want to drag as many people as I can onto this ship so I don't have to write all the fics I want to just to make it a Thing. :'D

Timoteo doesn’t find out about the Varia's new Cloud Officer until the first damages report hits his desk.

Or, more accurately, Tsunayoshi’s desk, since he’s summering in Italy at Reborn’s assistance to learn the ins and outs of the Family. Timoteo is amenable to this, even if Tsuna is a _little_ young. Then again, Reborn is his teacher, and that makes him the exception to every rule.

His first hint that something of note has happened is Tsuna's loud and horrified yelp as he drops a thick stapled sheaf of papers like it’s about to bite him. Lifting his head, he blinks at Tsuna, who stares at the report with something akin to terror.

“Something wrong, my boy?” he asks affably.

Tsuna very visibly marshals himself—likely because Reborn ~~threated~~ promised to drop by some time after lunch—and carefully flips past the first page. “Um. Xanxus wants…money? It’s a funds request for—for the south wing of the Varia mansion.”

Well, Timoteo thinks more or less amiably. At least the Varia didn’t level a small town. Again. After he warned them that they’d be rebuilding the next one by hand they miraculously managed to understand the phrase “minimum of collateral damage preferred”. It might be fairly optimistic of him, but Timoteo is counting it as his birthday present from Xanxus. “Oh? Are they remodeling?”

Tsuna turns to the next page and blanches chalk-white. “R-r-rebuilding it,” he stutters.

Timoteo freezes.

“Come again?” he asks politely.

The boy doesn’t quite squeak, which is an improvement over the first week he was here. He does read with a little more alacrity, though. “They—they need a new south wing,” he says weakly. “And half of a new entrance hall. It was—um. Belphegor and…” He blinks at the other name, clearly startled, and there's a very faint narrowing of his eyes. It’s the look of a boss assessing a threat, Timoteo thinks almost fondly. Good. Tsuna's learning, even if he did get a late start of it. “It says _Cloud Officer_ , but…I thought Gola Mosca was destroyed? By Hibari?”

And if the Hibari boy didn’t finish it, the CEDEF certainly did, Timoteo thinks, losing a good portion of his humor to suspicion. When he sent Squalo away with the idea of hiring a Cloud Officer who was a little more human than a machine that fed off life forces, he’d expected it to go the way most of his suggestions-cum-orders tend to with the Varia: Xanxus ignores him for several months or even years, Timoteo keeps hinting at a beneficial course of action, nothing gets done, and eventually things blow up in the Varia's faces and Xanxus pretends the suggestion-cum-order was actually his own idea all along and finally does it.

It is less, Timoteo thinks a touch wearily, like having a son, and more like having a very large cat.

“It was,” he tells Tsuna absently, trying to decide on the best course of action. “No name is given?” When Tsuna shakes his head, he sighs a little, because of course it wouldn’t be that simple. If he goes in person, Xanxus will take offense, and he’s only just begun the most tentative of bridge-building between them. Better not to risk it.

“What a fortuitous coincidence,” he says, making it cheerful, and can pinpoint the exact moment Tsuna's Hyper Intuition warns him what’s coming. “You’ve been cooped up in here for so long, my boy, it’s about time you took a bit of a trip. You’ll need Xanxus’s signatures on these—” he drags out the all-too-familiar stack of paperwork and drops it in the middle of Tsuna's desk “—or, barring that, have Squalo forge it. Belphegor and the Cloud Officer will need to sign as well on forms one through twelve.”

Tsuna stares at the mountain of paperwork with clear horror, opens his mouth to try for a refusal, and breaks off with a screech as Reborn drops from the ceiling fan and lands on his head.

“A field trip, Dame-Tsuna,” he says with familiar malicious cheer. “Aren’t you excited to see the beauties of Italy and learn more about the Famiglia?”

“I'm going to _die_ ,” Tsuna wails, but when Reborn kicks him in the head he groans, collects the stack, and offers Timoteo a tremulous smile.

Timoteo smiles back, and silently wishes him luck. It’s not easy to be one of the few people on the planet with any measure of Xanxus’s respect. Hopefully Tsuna will come to appreciate the position the way Timoteo himself failed to do.

 

 

Tsuna would rather go through Reborn’s hell-torture all over again than do this. He would rather do _literally anything_ than this, but Reborn is still far too terrifying and Tsuna is still horrible at saying no, so he pulls himself out of the big, intimidating black car in front of the Varia headquarters and hopes they throw a nice funeral for him. Gokudera will probably cry. Ryohei will probably cry too, honestly, but that’s somehow less worrying, since Gokudera crying is usually accompanied by Yamamoto attempting to comfort him, which is usually accompanied by _dynamite_. Tsuna doesn’t want his funeral interrupted by dynamite.

“Hey, this place isn’t so bad,” Yamamoto says cheerfully, dragging Tsuna out of terrifyingly vivid daydream—daymares?—of his casket being launched into the stratosphere by Gokudera’s misaimed explosives, with Reborn dressed in a priest outfit waving a solemnly sadistic goodbye.

Tsuna looks for himself, because he’s learned by now not to trust anything that comes out of Yamamoto’s mouth. Ever. And…if one ignores the conspicuous absence where a good quarter of the house used to be, Yamamoto is mostly correct. It’s a stately old mansion in the middle of the countryside, surrounded by forests and fields.

The visibly aggravated Squalo waiting for them in front of what used to be the front steps rather takes away from the image.

“What are _you_ doing here, runt?” he demands, scowling suspiciously at Tsuna in a way that makes Tsuna want to hide behind the nearest solid object.

“Hey, Squalo!” Yamamoto says, waving enthusiastically, like he’s greeting an old friend. “How are you?”

Squalo gives him a sour look. “I wasn’t talking to you, brat. What does the usurper want with us?”

Tsuna thinks about protesting the title, because it’s not like he’s a willing part of this _at all_ , but gives it up as a lost cause. “N-Nono sent me,” he says, and kind of wants to die at the way he stutters. “Er—paperwork?”

If anything, Squalo's expression gets worse, but he sighs and waves a hand in surrender, turning to stride back into the mansion. “Fuck, whatever. Anything that’ll make you take that pathetic expression of yours away faster. My office is upstairs.”

Tsuna doesn’t bother asking for Xanxus; if Squalo is willing to sign—and the way Timoteo said it makes Tsuna wonder if Xanxus has _ever_ done his own paperwork—he’s not about to argue.

“Who’s your new Cloud Officer?” Yamamoto asks cheerfully, because of course he does. Tsuna quietly has a minor panic attack, but Squalo just rolls his eyes.

“Is that why the old man sent you?” he scoffs. “Figures. The one time Xanxus doesn’t completely blow him off he acts like the fucking world is ending.”

Tsuna isn’t entirely sure he’d phrase it like that, but he’s not going to argue that point either. He ignores the way Yamamoto is laughing—better for his sanity that way—and darts up the stairs at Squalo's heels before Levi, just emerging from a room at the end of the hall, has a chance to see him.

“Everyone involved has to sign, too,” he says, more apologetically than he’d like.

“Fuck,” Squalo says, but since it sounds more like _fuck me_ than it does _fuck you_ , Tsuna manages not to flinch. He pauses, expression twisting like he’s eaten something bad, and repeats, “ _Fuck_.”

“Something wrong?” Yamamoto asks brightly, but his eyes have sharpened in that particularly unnerving way they sometimes do.

(The one time Tsuna tried to mention it, Yamamoto just laughed a little, scratched the back of his head, and asked, “Oh, like your eyes do, Tsuna?”

Tsuna had dropped the subject quickly after that.)

Squalo obligingly turns his scowl on the other swordsman. “Fuck you, I'm just—strategizing.” He groans, fisting his hands in his long hair and pulling. “Goddamn shitty boss and his goddamn shitty fucking taste—”

Tsuna's Hyper Intuition is lowkey screaming in the back of his head. That’s never a good sign.

Yamamoto must feel it too, because he takes three steps forward and one to the side, putting himself halfway in front of Tsuna without even seeming to think about it. “Something wrong with your boss, then?”

Squalo flips him off, then turns on his heel and stomps towards the third door on the left. He throws it open with a loud, “VOOOOI, WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT IDIOT PRINCE? AND WHERE’S THE BLOODTHIRTY BRAT?”

“Shishishi, there aren’t any idiot princes here,” Bel says, sprawled out across a couch with a book covering his face. “Only idiot swordsmen.”

“VOI, YOU SHITTY BASTARD—”

“Where do you _think_ my little moon-child is?” Lussuria asks, giggling far too happily for Tsuna's comfort. He notices Tsuna and Yamamoto peering around Squalo and brightens. “Oh my! Did you bring that heartthrob of a boxer with you? I'm _aching_ for another rematch with him!” A fluttery wink. “And then maybe some _one-on-one time_ afterwards, if you know what I mean~.”

Tsuna makes a mental note to keep Ryohei as far away from the Varia ass humanly possible, even as he smiles weakly. “S-sorry, only Yamamoto this time. Er. Belphegor, can you—?”

Before he can finish, Squalo yanks the briefcase out of his hands, stalks over, rips it open, and shoves the appropriate forms in Bel's face. “Fucking sign it, asshole, you know where.”

Bel scowls, but he takes the papers and the pen Squalo practically shoves up his nose. “Paperwork is for peasants.”

“Paperwork is for anyone who fucking DESTOROYS HALF OF HEADQUARTERS!” Squalo bellows at him. “FUCKING SIGN IT, BEFORE I MAKE YOU DO IT IN BLOOD.”

Looking incredibly put-upon, Bel starts signing. Tsuna sort of half-wonders if they could clone Squalo, because if he can control the Varia, the rest of the mafia world would probably be a piece of cake. Except then they’d have to clone Xanxus too, because there's no way to picture Squalo without Xanxus, and—

One Xanxus is already one too many, in Tsuna's opinion.

As if in answer to that thought, there's a roar from down the hall, full of familiar rage, and Tsuna twitches hard, turning and expecting to see Xanxus bearing down on him, guns drawn. Instead, however, there's a snarl fit to match Xanxus’s, and the sound of a door slamming open with enough force to crack the plaster. Xanxus’s Flames of Wrath flare, heavy enough to send a tremor of primal terror down Tsuna's spine, and there's a sound like a body being slammed full-force into a wall.

“ _Again_?” Squalo demands, sounding like he’s on the verge of tearing his hair right out of his head. “Goddamn _really_?”

“I think it’s adorable!” Lussuria coos, clasping his hands next to his cheek. “Ah, young—”

“If you say love I'm going to gag,” Squalo threatens. “Where the fuck is Mammon? We’re going to need another illusion before those shitheads traumatize the entire Varia.”

Before Lussuria can answer, there's the sound of steps, quick-light and almost soundless in the way of Hibari’s. half a second later, a young man Xanxus’s age stalks into the room, dark hair looking like he just rolled out of bed, wearing a white shirt meant for someone two sizes larger than him and a pair of pants. The scars on his face make Tsuna pale, and the look in his remaining eye is deadly enough that Yamamoto actually grabs Tsuna and pulls him back and behind the swordsman’s body.

The Cloud Officer, Tsuna assumes, feeling a little faint with terror.

“Are those _hickies_?” Lussuria squeals delightedly. “Oh, you naughty boy!”

The Cloud Officer gives him a dark look, but when the marital artist grabs him he doesn’t resist, just lets Lussuria tip his head up and to the side to get a better look. “I’m going to kill him,” he says to Squalo, and that’s an accent Tsuna hasn’t heard outside of his Guardians since he left Japan.

“Want to fucking repeat that?” Xanxus growls, stalking in behind him. He spares a disdainful look for Tsuna—which is still more than he would have given him before the Ring Battles, not that Tsuna is _happy_ about that—before throwing himself into the throne-like chair that’s clearly his. He is, at least, more thoroughly dressed than the stranger, though his clothes are as disheveled as ever.

“Bastard,” the Cloud Officer spits. His black eye shifts with an almost dizzying twist, becoming a black-and-red pinwheel that spins lazily, and the pale violet of his Flames colors the air around him, but at least he doesn’t attempt to go through Lussuria to get at Xanxus.

Xanxus gives him a grin that’s all teeth and no humor. “Yeah, probably.”

If Tsuna didn’t know better, he’d swear Xanxus just made a _joke_ about his _parentage_. And judging by the dumbfounded look on Bel's face as he drops the pen, he wasn’t the only one who heard it.

To his utter surprise, the stranger snorts, amusement curling one corner of his mouth. He bats Lussuria away, though not rudely, and takes a step back to turn and study Tsuna. Yamamoto is dismissed with one long glance, but his eye narrows the moment it lands on Tsuna's face, fills with a strange sort of recognition and nostalgia.

“Vongola Decimo,” he says, more or less politely, and ignores the scoff Xanxus gives.

“Sawada Tsunayoshi, pleased to meet you!” Tsuna blurts, accidentally in Japanese, and bows automatically.

To his shock, the Cloud Officer bows back, and says in the same language, “Uchiha Obito, it's an honor.”

“So you give _him_ a family name, but not me?” Xanxus grunts, and he’s frowning faintly in a way that makes Tsuna's sense of self-preservation gibber quietly in the back of his mind.

“He’s not an asshole bastard like you,” Obito retorts, turning a poisonous glare on the Varia boss.

In a rush, Squalo snatches the papers from Bel, snarls, “VOOOOI, DON’T YOU IDIOTS DARE—” and dives like he knows they're not going to listen to him. And, in a whirl of air, Obito vanishes completely just as a shot from one of Xanxus’s pistols slams into the floor.

“They look like they're having fun, don’t they?” Yamamoto asks cheerfully, even as he herds Tsuna back towards the door. At the same moment, Obito reappears out of nothing right above Xanxus, stabbing down at him with what looks like a _kunai_. Xanxus twists aside, letting it clang off the metal of his chair, and in the same movement he grabs Obito by the arm and drags him up—

Tsuna nearly trips over his own feet with a yelp.

Xanxus and Obito are _kissing_ , vicious like they're about to draw blood and entirely unconcerned by sudden retreat of all the present Varia members. Squalo is the last out, dragging Lussuria by his green-dyed hair, and he slams the door pointedly behind him. “Good riddance!” he shouts back through the wood, but if it makes any impact at all, Tsuna certainly can't tell.

“They—I—what?” Tsuna asks weakly, still trying to figure out what he saw.

This time Squalo's grimace is entirely agreement. “Believe me, shrimp, I feel the same fucking way. Come on. I can make up a signature for that idiot ninja, too.”

That, Tsuna thinks, is probably the best idea he’s heard all day. He hurries to follow the second-in-command, very carefully ignoring the noises coming from the room behind them.

There's lots of things he doesn’t need to know about, and that’s at the very top.


End file.
